


Cranberry

by Lurlur



Series: Ineffable Advent Event [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Genderfluid Character, Ineffable Advent, Makeup, cranberry - Freeform, fem Crowley, lipstick stains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21669508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Day 4 of the 31 Days of Ineffables.Crowley spends the night on Aziraphale's sofa and wakes up feeling uncomfortable.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Advent Event [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558564
Comments: 15
Kudos: 91





	Cranberry

Crowley didn’t feel like Anthony this morning. She still felt like  _ Crowley _ , just not Anthony. As problems go, it’s usually really minor; Crowley has clothes and imagination for every mood. Today, though, she isn’t at home and waking up in her own bed. There’s a blanket over her and a pillow under her head but this is still the lumpy antique sofa in Aziraphale’s bookshop. All her things are at home, neatly tucked into her wardrobes or in the bathroom storage. Waking up still wearing an Anthony outfit was uncomfortable to say the least.

“Oh, good morning, Crowley!” Aziraphale appears around the end of the sofa holding a mug of tea and a biscuit.

He bends to kiss Crowley on the forehead, she wriggles under the blanket a bit more, pulling it up to her nose.

“Everything alright there, my dear?” Aziraphale sounds puzzled.

“Oh yes, just fine,” Crowley begins, brightly. “It’s just that, well, I’m not dressed correctly. I’m not really comfortable taking care of that in the middle of your bookshop.”

Crowley gives the most expressive stare she can manage, trying to convey her meaning without having to use actual, mortifying words.

Aziraphale crouches beside her and places the tea and biscuit on the end table nearest her head.

“What do you need? How can I help?” He’s so sincere that Crowley has to sneak a quick kiss before retreating back to her blanket.

“Ideally, my bedroom and all its contents.” She shifts uncomfortably, knowing that she’s asking an awful lot.

A moment of silence passes followed by the kind of shift in air pressure that you feel just before the underground train pulls into the station.

“My dear, I’ve been awfully remiss in taking proper care of you, haven’t I?” 

Crowley nods, pouting dramatically as though she’s the saddest and most neglected thing in the whole world. Aziraphale laughs kindly and scoops her into his arms. 

“Oh!” Crowley wraps her arms around Aziraphale’s neck, knocking the blanket down to her chest.

As he carries her past the giant Christmas tree and up the spiralling staircase to the mezzanine level, Crowley starts to relax in Aziraphale’s arms. She always forgets how strong he is and he’s keeping her as covered as possible. 

The room he carries her into isn’t her bedroom, not by a long shot, but it is a bedroom. There’s a bed, a dressing table, wardrobes, and a door that suggests the existence of an en-suite bathroom. The style is distinctly Aziraphale, but it’s lovely, and he made it all for her.

“I know it’s not ideal, but will it do?” Aziraphale hasn’t put her down yet, he asks his question between kisses pressed to her temple.

“It’s wonderful.” Crowley wriggles her legs free and lowers her feet to the floor so she can kiss Aziraphale properly.

“I know you’ll be able to get yourself anything you want, but I tried to provide for a variety of needs.” Aziraphale is flustered in the face of Crowley’s gratitude and the knowledge tickles her. “Do you need any help getti- Oh!” Aziraphale blushes furiously and turns away to hide his face.

Crowley wraps her blanket over her shoulders like a cape and takes hold of Aziraphale’s wrists, preventing him from hiding behind his hands.

“What’s got you so hot and bothered all of a sudden, angel?” Her tone is light and playful to try and draw him out.

“Oh dear, I’m quite ashamed. I only meant to offer my assistance in changing your outfit, I know that you don’t like to see yourself in the wrong clothes like this. I’m afraid that my question was going to sound all too suggestive. It wasn’t appropriate.”

Crowley’s heart just melts in her chest. He looks after her in these little ways that matter the most and she knows that her smile is the wrong side of sappy but how can she help herself? Glancing away from his adorably pink face, Crowley notices that the dressing table has a full set of make-up brushes and blenders, as well as her favoured perfume.

“You knew what this was all about?” It’s Crowley’s turn to be confused. 

She has always suspected that Aziraphale’s comprehension of gender is rudimentary at best, even where it concerns Crowley’s own fluidity. Her meaningful and pointed looks whilst they were downstairs weren't that powerful, surely?

“My darling, there may be a great many things in this universe that I don’t know but you are not one of them. I always know you. I’m sorry that I encouraged you to stay here so long without providing for your comfort. It was thoughtless.”

Crowley is speechless. Her angel, thoughtless? Mere minutes after he miracles an entirely new room into existence for her, does his best to minimise her discomfort, and he’s calling himself thoughtless.

“Oh, angel. You really are very stupid for such a clever thing.” Crowley kisses him before he can object. “I’ll be fine now. Go back to your tea and your crossword and I’ll be down in a minute.”

She watches Aziraphale retreat down the stairs, throwing sickeningly adoring glances back at her every few steps, until he’s back on the ground floor. She closes the door and throws off the blanket, wasting no time in stripping off the Anthony clothes. In a snap of her fingers, Crowley is dressed once more, this time in a black pencil skirt and white blouse. She winds a thick, black woollen wrap around her shoulders and sits at the dressing table to paw through the selection of make-up. Crowley is feeling far more comfortable now and, aside from a spritz of perfume at the hollow of her throat, she is about to go without cosmetics. A tube of lipstick catches her eye and the idea of staking her claim on Aziraphale in such a visible way thrills her. 

The shade is “Cranberry Glimmer” which is a daft name, but seasonally appropriate, Crowley supposes as she applies it. It looks good on her. It’ll look better smeared on Aziraphale.


End file.
